


Wrath of the Giver (Hands of a Sinner)

by mevima, OKami_hu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), BDSM, Biting, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Humiliation, M/M, Mind Control, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Scene Gone Wrong, Scratching, Sexual Roleplay, Subspace, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: Aziraphale is investigating a Roman noble and Crowley tags along, pretending to be the angel's slave. Under a demonic relic's influence, they both learn new things about themselves and once the threat's resolved, they set out to learn even more.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 458
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written by both and beta'd by Mevima. Title from Imagine Dragons - Mouth of the River. 
> 
> The explicit parts are contained in the second chapter, so you can skip/save it for later.

As far as Crowley could recall, frequent fussing wasn’t an especially angelic trait. His friend, however, had a natural talent for it, which he was currently demonstrating to great effect, buried miserably in his cups at the local tavern.

"How am I supposed to find a slave, Crowley? I don't condone slavery, of course, but it _is_ the done thing here and I must get into that party. But oh, I can't just... acquire one. Maybe I can purchase one and set them free afterward? But then the poor creature wouldn't know what to do!"

Aziraphale grasped his wine cup with both hands to keep himself from wringing them any further.

"What a ridiculous idea, even!" he murmured into his drink. "Bringing a slave to show them off, like some - some - sort of possession." He paused. "Which they essentially… are viewed as. Maybe I should find another way. Maybe I can disguise myself as a - messenger? I’m good at that. Maybe I should just skip the party and wait for a different opportunity. Unless, um," he glanced up at the demon, all hopeful bright blue eyes. "Unless you know someone who’d play the part for me?"

Crowley's eyebrows raised into his hairline. "You're asking me to find someone to pretend to be your slave," he clarified in disbelief. At Aziraphale's miserable nod, he snorted out a laugh and took another swig of his own wine. "How very angelic of you. You ever consider _miracling_ yourself into this party? What do you need so desperately there, anyway?"

"Well that’s the thing." Aziraphale made an expansive gesture. "I should avoid miracles as much as I can. You see, this man I should investigate has captured Heaven’s attention. Head office suspects that he has contact with a demon - whether he’s possessed or is being influenced, they're not sure..." He trailed off and shifted in his seat. "Which would certainly be up your alley, actually… So I very much hope that the name Gaius Lurius doesn’t sound familiar to you, because if he’s committing those horrendous atrocities on your suggestion, then I’m afraid I’ll be forced to give you a stern talking-to."

A wrinkle of his nose communicated Crowley's disgust. "Heard of him, yeah. Hell's pleased as punch and I'm fucking sick of it." He straightened a little in his seat - as much as Crowley ever did, anyway. "Hey, if there's someone else here screwing with the local humans, they're interfering! This area's _my_ jurisdiction! I'll just have to go with you," he concluded with a decisive nod. Never mind that he'd want to go with the angel anyway. He didn't want Aziraphale anywhere _near_ that filthy human without supervision.

The angel made a valiant attempt to keep from sputtering his wine everywhere. He placed his cup down, stared at Crowley then held his hand up. "You are not suggesting you pose as my slave, right?" He smiled a little. "Of course not. Well, I can’t tell you not to come and at least I’d have agreeable company, but I’m still no closer to finding a solution, and I can’t let you go alone, I suppose, so - "

"Aziraphale," Crowely interrupted, raising an eyebrow. It had been a bit since he'd performed a proper temptation, after all, and this was about to prove a fine opportunity. He set his cup aside and leaned in, tilting his head coquettishly as he purred, "Let me be your slave."

"Wh - " the angel gaped. "N-no! I can’t ask that from you! It’s - It would be in extremely bad taste! I mean, I’m an angel and you’re a demon and the implications - I just cannot." He leaned back, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t even consider it. Even though you’d certainly look the part - "

Crowley laughed delightedly at Aziraphale's embarrassed flush. "Too late, already considered it." He crept closer, leaning across the space between their chairs. "You need a ssslave," he hissed, tongue darting prettily over his lips, "and I don't mind in the _ssslightest_ posing as one. For you."

"Stop that, you vile adversary," Aziraphale bristled, looking in every direction except the demon’s. "You’re trying to tempt me when I don’t have a choice. It’s really not fair!" He ran a hand down his face. "Are you sure? It’s just a lot of eating and talking, some music I’d wager, but some nobles are… known to behave irresponsibly when drunk. And, if Gaius does have a demonic… advisor, I should find them and deal with them. I planned on slipping out and searching the house. Unless you have a better idea?"

Now that he'd reached his goal, Crowley dropped the flirtations, leaning back with a satisfied air and waving a hand casually. "Oh, I'm sure we could both sense a demon if we got close enough. And I'll only need to act like your obedient little slave for a few hours, until we got it all sorted. Won't be any fuss."

Being close to the angel was never a hardship, and this would give Crowley all manner of excuses to flirt in the name of role playing. He was quite looking forward to it, honestly, and dismissed Aziraphale's concerns easily.

The angel looked into his cup, sighed, and waved to a server for a refill. "I’m not really comfortable with this, but unfortunately I’m out of options. Let’s meet tomorrow at nine, I’ll arrange transport." He glanced at Crowley. "Thank you. I - rather hope the visit will be in vain but on the other hand, that would mean that Gaius is committing his deeds simply on his own." He shuddered. "Sometimes they frighten me, humans."

Crowley nodded soberly. "They're better at coming up with their own torments than my lot will ever be." He swirled his wine thoughtfully for a moment, and then brightened with mischief. "Any requests for my outfit, or would master like to be surprised?"

Aziraphale let out an exasperated groan. "Just… try to be inconspicuous. Wear whatever you want as long as it’s nothing fancy." He looked at Crowley and his eyes were oddly gentle. "Don’t wear anything or the lack thereof that would make you uncomfortable. I don’t want to add insult to injury."

They parted ways shortly afterward, Aziraphale fretting into his cups while Crowley retired to a miraculously empty room. Though he lay down, the demon didn't manage to sleep the way he intended; he was too busy thinking about the next day.

The thought of another demon messing about in the area didn't truly concern him, and he was fairly certain there wasn't one anyway. Humans did the worst things when they were unsupervised, as he'd seen with Caligula years before. But Crowley was perfectly content to make any excuse to attend a fancy party with the angel that so fascinated him, and pretending to be the angel's slave, well... that was just a fun bit of make-believe, wasn't it?

Crowley determinedly ignored the thought that this game was closer to reality - or at least, to his secret little fantasies - than he might like. There was no way he was getting to sleep tonight, though, so he rolled out of bed with a groan to plan his clothing.

***

When Crowley appeared in the morning, meeting Aziraphale in front of the tavern, he had dressed... mostly appropriately. The tunic was scandalously low-cut, only one shoulder held closed by the bronze snake-shaped broach which pierced the dark red linen, while the open side exposed him to the waist. He had dithered between long and short: a short tunic was appropriate for a slave, while a long tunic on a man marked him as _effeminate_. In the end, Crowley had decided on a short tunic which barely covered his _subligar_ , the better to flash his legs.

Sandals were standard at this point in history and nothing special, so Crowley had added one more little detail: silver bracelets embossed with wings, reminiscent of Aziraphale's signet ring. He was quite proud of them, actually, as an easy sign of who his 'master' was while also marking him as quite well off. His face was split in a devilish grin as he came up behind the angel and tapped him on the shoulder.

Aziraphale twirled around with a gasp... and nearly stopped breathing right there. As his wide eyes roamed over the demon’s tall form, his cheeks took on a lovely rosy color, mouth simply hanging open for several long seconds. "That tunic," he finally managed to grind out, "is inappropriately short, though I don’t think anyone will take offence. Once you’ve seen Marc Anthony, you’ve seen it all." He finally tore his gaze from Crowley’s thighs and nodded. "A reasonable ensemble, I’d say. It, ah, suits you."

While Crowley was preening, Aziraphale turned away and gestured toward the small cart drawn by a sturdy mule with a rather uninterested driver perched on the front. "Not the most comfortable thing I’ve ever tried, but Gaius has his villa out in the forest on the hillside, and this carriage will take us straight there. We may as well get going straightaway." He gathered up the folds of his pristine toga and eased himself into one of the seats. The sunlight glinted off his jewelry; aside from his ring and pin, he had donned a simple but artfully made golden necklace, to really look like a member of high society. 

Crowley's smile softened when Aziraphale couldn't see him, into something less saucy and more wistful. The angel was _beautiful_ , especially with the self-confidence and grace he sometimes let himself display. Crowley followed Aziraphale into the cart and onto the opposing seat, fully aware that his usual sprawl put his inner thighs on display.

While Aziraphale's attention was diverted to give instructions to the driver, Crowley took the chance to look him over. Teasing the angel tonight was going to be _fun_. "May I do anything for master on the way to the party?"

"You really don’t need to pretend until we get there," Aziraphale mumbled, feathers ruffled. "Stop teasing me, Crowley. I’m definitely not enjoying this situation, I’ve never considered you to be - _below_ me. Barring the fact that you’re, well, a demon, so technically you’re _from_ below - " He made a vague gesture and sighed. "It’s going to be a long ride. Do you have to sprawl like that? It’s - distracting." A thought occurred to him, and Aziraphale squinted. "Do you even know how a slave should behave? You’re a proud creature, I’d have never thought you’d volunteer for something like this."

"Distracting is the point," Crowley objected, but he sat up, blinking innocently as he composed himself into something more _appropriate_. "Of course I know how, ser." His voice was quiet, subservient; though Aziraphale had asked him not to pretend yet, it was too much fun to avoid, and anyway, he was showing off his acting skills right then. "I'll stand or sit where you direct me, refill your wine glass, fetch you food and refreshments, and make sure you have a good time. Besides looking pretty," he paused to snicker, "my purpose is to fulfill your every need."

"I shouldn’t have agreed to this," Aziraphale sighed, his blush darkening a little. "Your only aim is mischief, you’re going to tempt people left and right. I’m not even supposed to sit on the same cart with you… yet here I am." He shook his head slowly. "While we’re there, take care not to do anything clumsy or untoward. I can't imagine you'd behave carelessly, but I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Some people are... harsh... with their slaves."

"Relax, we'll be fine." The sprawl came naturally, but Crowley tried to direct it into something Aziraphale would be happier with, pulling his feet up onto the seat so he rested sideways. "We'll attend your fine party, find your little demon - or not - and the only person I'll be trying to tempt is _you_ , so you can be a good example to all those other naughty slave-owners."

The image that came to mind then, of Crowley kneeling at Aziraphale's feet and asking for mercy, was one he would not allow past his lips. A shiver passed over him instead, and Crowley looked away, clenching his teeth to keep the pretty picture inside his _own head_ , thank you.

***

Conversation moved on to recent events, and all the things that had happened since they'd last seen each other. For them, it was only a handful of years, but the world was a busy place with lots of people and an interesting religious movement following in the footsteps of a certain young carpenter from Galilee. 

The journey was pleasant, if a bit slow; the summer heat wasn’t as scorching in the shade of the trees and the area was beautiful. They passed a vineyard or two, and when they briefly stopped for a little rest and a snack, Crowley was pleased to discover that the angel had brought along something to drink as well.

Once they arrived, it became apparent that the party was going to be a big one. Several other carriages rested in the yard, the horses in the stables, the drivers and slaves in the kitchen. A pair of nobles milled about nearby, locked in a conversation; both of them had pretty slaves alongside them.

Aziraphale climbed off the cart, took a deep breath, and pulled himself straight; suddenly, he indeed looked like a wealthy aristocrat of the glorious Empire. He gestured imperiously for Crowley to follow and strolled up to the marble-framed main entrance, not sparing a glance for the demon. He fit in perfectly, and not a soul tried to stop him.

Crowley followed Aziraphale into the house, two steps behind, attempting to project an aura of meekness. The building was magnificent inside and out, a testament to modern architecture, and filled with beautiful tapestries, statues, and people. The demon had to grudgingly admit he could see the appeal.

Eyes landed on Aziraphale like he was a person, but on Crowley like he was an object, assessing and approving and not bothering to hide their appreciation or lust. A part of him preened under the attention, but another bristled; nobody _owned_ the Serpent of Eden and they would surely be bitten if they tried to touch.

He was so busy eyeing the partygoers from under carefully lowered lashes that he nearly ran into Aziraphale, letting out a startled sound when the angel suddenly stopped in the middle of a hallway.

"Mind how you go," Aziraphale chastised in a low, subtly authoritative tone that did odd things to Crowley's groin. The angel didn't even turn his head, busy looking at the host, who was greeting the guests. 

Gaius was a surprisingly fit man in his early forties. He had ties to the military, and had even served in his youth, but by this point in life, he was a clever businessman and allegedly, a vicious sadist. 

Aziraphale’s storm-blue eyes gained the slightest odd shine as he concentrated, carefully feeling around for any signs of a demonic presence. He ignored the strong signal emanating from behind him, and scanned the house. He could pick up the faintest smell of evil around the host, which wasn’t reassuring... but he couldn’t detect an actual occult being. 

He tipped his head to the side just a little, eyes never leaving the target, and inquired quietly, "Do you feel anything?" 

Redirected back to their actual mission, Crowley wrinkled his nose, trying to let his senses extend throughout the house. Aziraphale was a bright, unavoidable spot, almost painful to his senses, and Crowley let himself bask in the angel's grace for a few shameless seconds before moving on. Nothing else truly drew his attention, and he shook his head minutely. "Nothing nearby," he murmured, close enough for his breath to brush Aziraphale's ear. "Could be further away, though. I can only reach so far."

"We’ll just have to go on a tour, then." The angel shrugged lightly, then put on his brilliant smile and bravely went ahead to greet Gaius. 

The guy was a lot of things - decent-looking, pleasant, well-mannered - but Aziraphale couldn’t suppress a shiver as they touched. There was something clearly demonic lingering around the man, but it was faint, like a fading perfume. It fortunately didn’t hinder Aziraphale’s tiny miracle, making him believe that the angel was indeed on the guest list, a respectable merchant mostly dealing in parchment and ink. 

"You do have a pretty slave indeed, my friend," Gaius nodded towards Crowley. "Very strapping. The red hair makes him look wild, like a northern barbarian. Does he have any special talents? I mean, aside from the obvious." His leer made Crowley itch to perform a nasty miracle on him.

"Ah, um." Aziraphale quickly licked his lips. "He’s… very clever. And, um." He glanced back at the demon, a little lost, then suddenly brightened. "Clever hands, too! He is rather good at massages. Sometimes my back gives me such grief and he’s always able to make me feel better!" His confident smile was back in place and it seemed that the host hadn't noticed the hesitation. 

"That does sound like a useful talent. Well, my friend, go ahead, enjoy yourself before lunch starts; I have to greet a few more people."

"Certainly." With a respectful nod, Aziraphale headed toward the airy room full of long tables and comfortable seats, designed for the most luxurious culinary experience.

He also huffed a relieved sigh once they were out of earshot.

Crowley glanced back at the doorway they'd just gone through, making sure any humans were far enough away, and then snorted. "Clever hands?" he murmured in Aziraphale's ear. "Someone's got their mind in the gutter."

When Aziraphale sputtered indignantly, Crowley only laughed softly, as he imagined a slave would if their master said something intended to be funny. The demon bowed slightly and led Aziraphale to a free couch, holding out an inviting hand to support him while he sat. "If master pleases," he said, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Oh, be quiet!" Aziraphale hissed, trying to look significantly less angry than he sounded. "I had to improvise, because you aren’t good for anything! I mean - " he faltered. "You are, of course, very good at what you do, but I couldn’t very well tell him that your talent is temptation. Massage is a handy and believable skill to have. I _could_ have told him that you keep my bed warm instead, I don’t know how you’d have liked that."

"Ngk," Crowley said eloquently, brought up short by the idea, words as blunt as Aziraphale ever managed to be.

"Give me some grapes, please," Aziraphale requested with a sniff.

Hiding the blush that darkened his cheeks, Crowley left to fetch a handful of grapes from one of the bowls set in the nearby alcoves. He had managed to compose himself by the time he returned, and decided he was going to be _merciless_ in his revenge. Settling himself behind Aziraphale on the couch, Crowley reached around to offer an individual grape. "Shall I show off my _clever hands_ , then, angel?"

"Crowley! We’re here on a mission, not an orgy! But - " Aziraphale pressed his lips together and his shoulders sagged. "I suppose we had better do as the Romans." He opened his mouth for the treat, and Crowley's nimble fingers popped the grape delicately onto his tongue. "Get me a cup of wine, too," he added. "I need some alcohol. And a good excuse for later to leave. Eating will take hours, as far as I’m acquainted with local culinary tradition, and we must search the house. I know there’s something afoot."

Out of sight behind him, Crowley smiled softly at Aziraphale's determination. It was, frankly, _cute_. He sighed, though, as if put-upon, and lay the rest of the grapes on the heavy fabric by Aziraphale's thigh while he climbed to his feet again. "Wine it is, master."

The annoyed flush at that word would never get old, and Crowley grinned to himself as he wandered away to find a reliable source of alcohol.

There were clay jugs of wine easily accessible in the kitchen along with some very fine cups which showed off the household's expanse. Crowley took the chance to cast about with his senses while he was in there, ignoring the humans passing by him, and frowned at what he found. Away from the distraction of Aziraphale's presence, something in the area was pinging as… ethereal, somehow. Demonic, perhaps. Not strongly, not a person, but he had to reluctantly conclude that Aziraphale was right: _something_ shouldn't be here.

Shutting out the humans as unimportant irritations meant he completely missed the hungry way some of the partygoers were eyeing him. Crowley's face was troubled when he returned to the angel, handing off the cup with an absent-minded bow.

Aziraphale almost thanked him, but caught himself in time. The party was about to really start, the guests relaxing into their seats while their slaves stood, sat or knelt behind them, barely more than lovely display pieces. On a small stage, musicians settled down with instruments and began to play; due to the room’s size, the music was muted, not hindering the conversation. The first bowls and plates arrived with various dishes.

"You look a little sour," the angel mentioned, craning to get a better look at the approaching food. "Sensed anything? It’s not a demon, at least, but something similar."

"Yes," Crowley agreed, distracted. He frowned at the room as if he could force the mystery to resolve itself by will alone, and held another grape in front of Aziraphale's lips. "Eat your grapes, angel."

Aziraphale's lips grazed his fingers as he obliged, and Crowley yanked his hand back, blinking rapidly at the tingle of contact. He didn't exactly think they were in danger here, but it would probably be prudent to focus on their surroundings instead of on Aziraphale's thrice-damned _mouth_.

The dishes were carried past one by one, exquisite creations intended to show off Gaius' opulence, and Aziraphale exclaimed at each one. Crowley would have been bored, except for the indulgent hums and exaggerated moans with which the angel ate his food. Crowley shifted, and frowned, and finally muttered in spite of himself, "Can you _please_ calm down, I am trying to sense the damned thing."

"Oh? Oh, sorry, am I being loud? I really can’t help it, this stuffed fig leaf is absolutely _divine_. You really sh - Um. Except it would be a little too much to slip you a bite, wouldn’t it?" Aziraphale tutted, washed the delicacy down with a sip of wine, then reached for the next dish.

"There should be a way to slip off - Dear heavens, is that sirloin with marjoram and coriander? You should absolutely try it, propriety be damned." He glanced around. "People are getting inebriated anyway, no one would notice. What do you say?" He flashed a smile at the demon, then added: "And yes, we do have to find this - thing. It’s probably a thing, isn’t it?"

"Probably." Crowley eyed Aziraphale, weighing the angel's proposal. There was, in fact, an appropriate way for Aziraphale to share his food, but... Ah, well, he had planned on teasing, hadn't he? Crowley let his lashes drop, leaned forward, and opened his mouth, soft too-human tongue resting on his bottom lip, ready to accept the morsel of food from his 'master.'

The display of submission left Aziraphale suddenly hesitant, the fragrant, juicy piece of meat held loosely between his miraculously clean fingers. For several reasons, he very much didn't want to take back the offer, but his hand shook as he slowly placed the bite on Crowley’s tongue.

"There you go, dear," he whispered, keeping his voice down but not the endearment. The world faded into a low hum around him, and when his fingertip brushed the demon’s lower lip - much like Crowley’s had touched his before - Aziraphale didn’t snatch his hand away. Quite the contrary, his touch lingered, and he found himself lost in Crowley’s eyes. Even half-closed, they shone like honey dripped over some delicacy.

Crowley slowly closed his mouth on the meat, staring without blinking as he forced himself to chew, forced himself to be human, though he didn't taste the food at all. The memory of soft pressure lingered on his lower lip: a temptation gone too well.

A wave of heat rushed through the angel’s corporation and he forced himself to look away, abruptly alarmed at his own audacity. 

Then a blow landed on Crowley's back and the demon hissed, swallowing convulsively and turning to glare over his shoulder. A tall, jovial Roman man stood there, hand resting on Crowley's shoulder as he grinned toothily at Aziraphale. "This is a spoiled one, I see! He gets to taste the master's food!"

It was well-intentioned, as far as one could be with a slave. It was culturally appropriate to the times, and more than appropriate for the setting.

It was _unacceptable_ to have that man's hand on his shoulder, talking to Aziraphale over his head, and Crowley wanted to _bite it off_.

Aziraphale stuttered a half-formed excuse and the Roman laughed, oblivious to the angel's discomfort as his hand crashed down on Crowley's shoulder again. Crowley bared his teeth.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing this one later - " the man started to say, but then Crowley was throwing the hand off his shoulder, half-rising on the couch with a snarl.

"Don't _touch_ me, you sewer-dipped barbarian, you haven't the _goddamn right_ \- "

"Crowley!"

Apparently, the guy wasn’t drunk enough to let the insult slide; he gaped at first, like a fish, struggling to comprehend this outrageous display of insubordination, then his face twisted into a mask of rage.

"How dare you?" he bellowed and raised his hand to strike, but it was neither appropriate to hit someone else’s slave, nor particularly becoming of a Roman noble to do the hitting himself. "You need to be put in your place!"

"I’m terribly sorry." Aziraphale hastily rose from his seat, arranging the folds of his toga. "He spoke out of turn but no harm was done fortunately, and I’ll make sure to give him a nice long lecture about - "

"I want to see this cur beaten," hissed the offended man. All around them, the guests - previously rather mellow - were agreeing, eyes shining feverishly.

_Wrath_ , Aziraphale realized. _It’s some artifact that amplifies wrath. It shouldn’t be here. It needs to be found and contained._

He glanced at Gaius, whose eyes shone with bloodlust as well, but this craving was more contained, finely honed by his natural cruelty. Aziraphale shuddered, and felt the blood drain from his face as the overseer drew closer with lash in hand, attracted by the commotion.

Normally, Crowley would handle this himself. He was more than capable of protecting himself from a few upstart humans. But they needed to stay in the house just a little while longer, and to do that, they needed to maintain their roles. His mind raced, struggling with his dignity.

After a moment, Crowley lowered his eyes subserviently, and drew Aziraphale's attention with a soft murmur. "Apologies, master. I forgot my place." His eyes flashed up briefly, trying to get the message across. _I agreed to this, yeah? Do what you have to._

When Aziraphale fumbled a bit more, glancing around at the gathered crowd, Crowley prodded further. "Would master like to reprimand me himself?"

"Very well." The angel forced his voice into coldness. It was strangely easy to find a well of anger within himself. He snatched the lash from the overseer’s hand, shoved Crowley unceremoniously to the ground, and struck precisely three times. The demon muffled his cries into grunts of pain as the thick leather left red lines on his exposed shoulder. 

"Up, you ungrateful bastard!" Aziraphale's tone brooked no objection from his slave, but turned smooth when he addressed the assembled crowd. "Apologies, my dear lords, it appears that my slave has become - forgetful. I shall remind him of the good manners he has been _taught_." Aziraphale glanced at the host. "If that’s all right with you, sir. I’d like to take him outside. I need to be delicate with him, so as to not bruise his pretty skin and I’m afraid this marvellous feast would command too much of my attention." The logic wasn’t entirely sound, but the praise worked, and some punishment had been dealt out; it seemed to placate the bloodthirst somewhat. The people fell back, the murmur of the party slowly resuming.

"My home is yours, my friend." Gaius waved generously, but his eyes shone with gleeful malice. "You may use the garden to deal with him."

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s tunic, knuckles white on the whip.

Dazed, Crowley had to scramble to follow. Fuck, Aziraphale had _whipped_ him. He didn't know the angel had it in him, but he knew Aziraphale had been holding back, and for one glorious moment, Crowley let himself imagine what it would be like to have that incredible strength focused completely on him.

Then they were outside, away from prying eyes, and Crowley let himself raise a hand to touch the welts marking his flesh, hissing at the sting of it. A lazy sort of pleasure lay underneath the pain, something dark and drifting, something Crowley had heard of people enjoying but had never experienced himself. He took a deep breath, and turned sharp eyes on Aziraphale, who was already starting to fret and apologize.

"Crowley, I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to but I had to and now - I feel awful, can you forgive me?" Those nice warm hands grabbed the demon’s shoulders. "Are you all right? Please say you’re all right, God, I hope I didn’t hit too hard, I really tried to hold back but I’m not used to hitting people! Here, let me take care of these - " The angel paused, fingers hovering above the injury. "Do you think I can? I’m not going to make it worse, am I? I’d never forgive myself if I seriously hurt you - "

"Angel," Crowley interrupted, carefully removing Aziraphale's hands from his shoulders and lacing their fingers together to keep him from pulling away. "One, shut up. Two, you can't heal it anyway because they'd _notice_. And three…" A slow smile graced the demon's face, and he flicked his eyes down his own body pointedly. "Three, I _really_ don't want you to heal it." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting out a deliberate, quiet groan. "I hope you kept the whip."

"What - ?" Aziraphale was staring, his eyes a shade lighter from the tears that had every intention to spill a moment ago, but now were hastily reconsidering the idea. "K-keep, what do you even - ?" Then, the _sestertius_ dropped and Aziraphale blinked, seemingly caught up right in the middle between horror and… something else. 

"You - _liked_ that?" he stammered. "You really liked when I hit you?" He was blushing again, most adorably, slowly but surely. It looked like his cheeks weren't going to stop at salmon; they were aiming straight for a boiled lobster colour, like the gourmet he was. "I, oh, um. S-so you’re not... angry? And you’ll be fine?" His fingers gripped Crowley’s hand a little tighter and his tongue darted out, wetting his lips.

"I'm not angry. And I'll be fine." Crowley's lips quirked in amusement, but he couldn't take his eyes off Aziraphale's mouth. The angel's strength, his kindness, his confidence and control when he chose to bring it forward… it all combined with the tendrils of sensation bleeding from the whip marks to make Crowley _ache_.

He should back off, now that he had reassured the angel and had his little piece of fun. They had a job to do and Crowley didn't want to risk this, this _thing_ they had between them, for a little bit of self-indulgence, no matter how tempting. But he didn't let go of Aziraphale's hands, and his shoulder burned, and he stared at the bow of Aziraphale's lips, breath coming sharper in his lungs with the weight of _something_ coming to a head.

A few moments floated by and while Crowley hesitated, Aziraphale’s eyes began to change. They became sharper, clearer; but not unkind. He gently freed his hands and reached up to cup Crowley’s jaw.

"You can stop me at any moment," the angel whispered, and he tugged the demon closer, closer still, until their lips finally met, enmeshed, and opened.

Crowley made a strangled noise, frozen stiff with shock, and stood unresponsive for long enough that the bravery began to turn sour in Aziraphale's gut. When the angel moved to pull back, though, Crowley grabbed at him convulsively, suddenly consumed with the need to keep Aziraphale close, to not let him run away.

If this was all he was going to get, if Aziraphale was going to change his mind in a minute, Crowley was going to fucking _savour_ it, running his tongue over Aziraphale's bottom lip and inviting himself inside with demanding pressure. He fisted his hands in the front of the angel's toga and pulled him close, groaning in relief when the angel allowed it, knowing he could have resisted the movement without trying. That imposing strength giving in to him was heady, shivering down Crowley's spine and landing with a hot jolt between his thighs.

After the initial submission, Aziraphale’s tongue began to push back, as well as his body, pressing closer to Crowley’s, a thick thigh slipping between the demon's leaner ones. Aziraphale's hands left the demon’s jaw and curled around his body instead, one possessively grabbing him by the waist, the other passing over the red welts, too precise to _not_ be deliberate.

"Oh God," the angel breathed in a momentary break when their bodies reminded them that if they were human, this would’ve been the time to take in some air. "Oh God. Oh _God_." Their mouths slid together, both of them moving into it roughly, desperately, rutting against each other and swallowing sweet noises.

"Oh, Crowley, the _things_ you make me feel - !"

"Fuck." Crowley's head fell back, clenching Aziraphale's thigh between his own and grinding down. "Gonna break me to say this, angel, but we have - we have work to do and they'd probably just laugh it off if they found you with your slave in the gardens, but - ah, shit," he moaned as Aziraphale's hand scraped over the stripes on his shoulder. "Do that again."

"If they would like to see through a concealing miracle, they’re welcome to try," Aziraphale hissed, his short nails digging into the welts. "We know it’s not a demon, so there’s no need to rush, is there?" He leaned in and promptly sunk his teeth into Crowley’s neck; the demon jerked, and clutched at him with a ragged cry.

Common sense was rearing its ugly head, though. Aziraphale soothed the quickly fading mark with his tongue and heaved a sigh. "However, you’re right. We need to find this thing and remove it - I can’t tell if its effects could be permanent." Reluctantly, Aziraphale let Crowley go, stepping back with an embarrassed flush.

"I, um," he stammered, glancing at the ground. "I definitely did not expect this to happen and - I might need some time to process it. But - " He glanced up again, meeting the demon's eyes, and said quietly, "I have no regrets."

"Aziraphale…" Crowley's voice was weak, neck and shoulder throbbing with a pain that went straight to his cock, uncomfortably hard underneath his _subligar_. He felt strangely bereft and even cold, with Aziraphale no longer touching him, and he wrapped his arms around himself without thinking.

A deep breath, another, and Crowley forced himself to relax. Aziraphale had liked this - had _initiated_ this - and it was going to continue. Later. A bright ember of hope began to burn in his chest, and he offered Aziraphale a grin. "Right. Find the demonic influence, _then_ you tear at me with your teeth."

Aziraphale jumped. "Don’t! Say things like that to me!" His fingers twisted into the white fabric of his toga. "If you keep up, I’d be inclined to try." This newly discovered interest in _dominating_ another was confusing, but he was quite determined to sort it out soon enough. Preferably before the next time he got Crowley alone. 

"Let’s get moving. No one would try to stop me and you’re practically invisible right now even without miracles. I want to wrap this up quickly, and then we can _leave_." He glanced back into the direction of the dining hall, lamenting the loss of the rest of the feast. "I’d say, the master bedroom is the likeliest location to hide highly prized items."

"Yes, master," Crowley purred, and laughed when Aziraphale shot him a sharp look. He'd been worried this encounter was going to ruin everything. Now, it seemed it was just going to make their relationship more _fun_.

With a quick glance around the gardens, Crowley furrowed his brow. "Hang on, stay there." He wasn't going to be able to sense _anything_ with the angel's holy presence overlaying it.

Several metres away, Crowley closed his eyes and cast about. There was definitely something demonic here, spreading the black tar of its influence through the grounds. It felt angry - no, _wrathful_ \- and Crowley hissed instinctively. "That way," he said, pointing.

He hurried through corridors one after the other, crossing atriums, sometimes pausing by a door, then shaking his head and moving on. The house was practically labyrinthian, but Crowley followed the scent like a bloodhound, until soon enough, Aziraphale was able to discern it as well. With proximity, they could tell it wasn't exceptionally powerful, but definitely mean and cruel, laced with age. 

When Crowley finally stood in front of a large, heavily carved door, the source was unmistakable, and he shoved inside the room without hesitation. Aziraphale had guessed right, from the looks of it. The bedroom was spacious and well-decorated though basically impersonal - the art on the walls and in the alcoves was strangely generic, saying little about the room's occupant. The large bed in the middle was piled with pillows, hiding behind sheer curtains; there was a chest inlaid with expensive wood and poured metal, and even a low round table with small personal items scattered atop it.

"Now we just have to figure out where exactly this thing is hidden," Aziraphale mused. "I can sense it’s here but the resonation is all over, no clear source."

He looked questioningly at Crowley, but a brusque shake of the demon's head dashed that idea. "We're too close. Gotta search by hand, I guess - unless you just wanna trash the room with miracles."

The expression on Aziraphale's face told Crowley what he thought of that plan, and so they split up and started hunting through the room, attempting to ignore the miasma of utter _wrongness_ that covered it. There were drawers and drawers of rich clothing, linens and silks and gauzy damasks, more than one could wear in a year. Gaius had built his estate on a foundation of excess, and loved to show it off.

Frustration built as they went through item after item and found nothing. Finally, just as he was ready to start tearing furniture apart, Crowley found an ivory-hilted dagger in a jeweled sheath, nestled beneath the mounded pillows on the bed. At first glance, he thought it was just another gaudy decoration, but when he touched the dagger to toss it aside, the sizzle of _evil_ sunk into his hand and he hissed, yanking back.

"Ouch. Fuck. Wrath. Found it. Who the Heaven let this out of Hell?"

Aziraphale stepped forward to see, and Crowley shook his head without looking at him, waving him back. "If it hurts me to touch it, you're really not gonna want to. Let me just wrap it up and - "

He was very effectively silenced with a loud squeak, when a hand grabbed him by the non-proverbial nuts. "What a fantastic job," a voice purred into his ear, the barest celestial echoes lacing through it and driving a shock straight to his groin. "Excellent work, my dear. You truly deserve a reward, and I won’t hesitate to give it to you." Lips brushed the demon’s ear, and the angel's other hand settled proprietarily on his skin, caressing Crowley’s exposed thigh. 

Tiny kisses fell across his abused shoulder, the presence behind him radiating so much heat it would have been alarming were it not so familiar. "Look at that bed," Aziraphale urged. "Look at the floor. Both are rather tempting, don’t you agree?"

For a moment, Crowley let himself sink into it with an open-mouthed moan, tilting his head back to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder while those hands toyed eagerly with him. Teeth scraped over the welts, flaring a sharp pain that somehow made him impossibly harder, and Aziraphale's nails raked into his thigh, drawing a whimper.

It was fucking hot, it was fantastic, and Crowley desperately didn't want it to stop. Rocking back into Aziraphale's body, he was gratified to find an answering hardness beneath the angel's toga. Then Aziraphale _snarled_ , digging in harder, twisting Crowley's body to his whims - and that was _wrong_ \- Aziraphale wasn't this violent beast, he was never so - 

Angry.

Wrathful.

_The knife_ , Crowley thought with sudden clarity, and he grabbed at Aziraphale's hands. "No. No, wait, angel - Aziraphale - stop, you need to stop."

" _Make me._ " The enchantment on that blasted knife had to be _strong_ ; Aziraphale was rarely so affected by demonic influence. Crowley’s subtle temptations seemed to be an exception, but he suspected a different reason for that. 

The angel curled one arm around Crowley’s waist to keep him close, grip like a vice with his strength barely held in check. He held up his other hand, displaying how his neatly manicured nails lengthened into neatly manicured claws, and dragged the sharp points raggedly across Crowley’s chest. They didn't quite draw blood, but the promise of it made Crowley pant, the air a heavy weight bearing him down.

"You like this," Aziraphale growled. "You enjoy being hurt, and I’m going to enjoy hurting you." The dark grin twisted his handsome face into an ugly mask, and Aziraphale's claws pierced skin this time, drawing forth dark droplets that called to the bloodlust curling in the angel's gut.

"Yes, but - _Aziraphale!"_ Crowley wailed, and sweet Lord, this side of the angel was doing obscene things to him, how Aziraphale wrapped around him and threatened to rend flesh and tear him apart. But it _wasn't his angel_ , wasn't what Aziraphale actually wanted to do, and Crowley bared his teeth at the ceiling in frustration.

Dropping his head forward as if in surrender, Crowley flung it back hard, braced for the world-shaking impact when he hit Aziraphale's cheekbone. The angel stumbled back, forced to release him, and Crowley took the chance he'd created to dart away hastily.

"It's the knife, Aziraphale, it's the damned knife. Literally damned. Listen, you're not yourself, you have to know that. You're an angel. Resist it, it's your _fucking job!"_ Every step backward took Crowley a bit further away, angling to put the bed between them with a sharp eye on Aziraphale's movements.

There was a moment of terror as Aziraphale’s eyes flared up with an angry light. Several dozen more opened up across his body, each of them fixing Crowley with a hungry glare. Crowley could swear that there was a halo, and wings were manifesting, an angel’s true form burning with divine wrath -

It was gone in a heartbeat, leaving Aziraphale standing there alone, confused and looking all too human.

"Crowley?" he asked nervously, eyes darting around the room, then over Crowley's wary stance until they focused on the thin dark lines marring the demon’s chest. The angel gasped, both hands flying up to cover his mouth in shock. "Oh my _God_ …!" He looked ready to lose it, or maybe vomit - but perhaps divine forces were humoring them; Aziraphale pulled himself together surprisingly fast. 

"That thing must be destroyed," he said firmly, bustling into motion. "Put it on the floor over there, and - and leave the room, I don’t want the circle to scorch you."

Once Crowley had obeyed and scurried out, Aziraphale busied himself with the banishing spell. He waved his hand and a glowing magical circle appeared around the dagger, all precise lines and powerful glyphs, radiating a subtle heavenly energy. Aziraphale studied it, made modifications with a few elegant gestures, then began to chant in Enochian, the words echoing strangely around the room. 

The lines flared up immediately, and the dagger began to tremble, then slowly, to crumble into dust.

Aziraphale lowered his arms with a heavy sigh and the circle vanished, leaving only a small pile of ashes on the floor.

Outside the room, Crowley felt the ethereal energy flare, then die out. He ran his finger over the torn flesh of his chest once more, smearing tiny droplets of blood across his skin with a mixture of both arousal and relief. Though he trusted Aziraphale, it was quite a different matter to see Aziraphale under the thrall of a demonic artifact, and he had no idea how far the angel would have gone. Discorporation? Possibly.

The air felt cleaner, sweeter somehow, with the dagger gone, but Crowley didn't want to linger now that the job was done. He ducked back into the bedroom and gave Aziraphale a wry smile.

The angel returned it, then slowly walked up to the demon. "I know, I know." He lifted his hand but didn’t touch; his fingertips hovered an inch from the cuts across Crowley's chest. "You must allow me to try and heal this."

"Not here?" Crowley ventured, uncharacteristically timid. "This place is awful, and you're right - healing me may go wrong. Much rather be somewhere comfortable if you're going to hurt me again." The grin he flashed was teasing, with a suggestive look up and down Aziraphale's body.

Aziraphale frowned. "Don’t joke about that." But it was evident that he was relaxing.

"We can just pop back to the tavern, or we can take the carriage. They’re all going to conveniently forget that we’ve been here. Any preference?" He glanced up and gave Crowley a solemn nod. "Also, thank you. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if I had come alone."

"Don't mention it. I'm very happy with how this little adventure has gone." Crowley lifted his chin, raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale's rumpled toga. "Let's not traumatize the driver when we continue this." _There's no way I'm letting you get away from me now._ "Lift home?" He held out a hand, ready to miracle them back.

Aziraphale took it. "Gently, my dear."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight still streamed into the demon’s room in the quaint little tavern. The place was sparsely furnished and small, a bit suffocating after the airy villa, but it felt like a snug refuge after Gaius' hostile party.

The two watched each other for a moment in awkward silence, then Aziraphale moved to gently close one of the window panes, dimming the light from outside. He gestured toward the bed. Crowley sat obediently, and the angel knelt before him to inspect the damage, tutting softly at what he found.

"I’ll be slow. If it hurts, shove me away, don’t think about it." He touched the end of a scratch and the skin warmed under his fingertip.

Crowley nodded soberly, focused on Aziraphale's face as the angel concentrated. Then the celestial energy washed over him, bright and harsh and soothing all at once, and his eyes fluttered shut. A violent shiver racked his body, and he clutched at Aziraphale's arms as the ragged flesh smoothed over and disappeared into clean skin.

"I'm sorry, was that too much?" the angel asked, but Crowley was already shaking his head.

"Just - different," he gasped, blinking yellow eyes open to meet Aziraphale's worried gaze. "Bracing, like…" Working his jaw, Crowley tried to figure out how to explain it. "Like boiling water, so hot it feels cold."

"I suppose that’s bearable," Aziraphale ventured and took a better look at Crowley’s chest. "Splendid! Not the slightest mark remains. And now we know that if I ever need to heal you, I can." He looked up. "Let’s hope that won’t happen often. It’d make me terribly distraught."

His hand lingered, making tiny circles over Crowley's skin, then he reached for the clasp at the demon's shoulder. ‘I believe… we had a vague plan. Or, I don’t know, maybe you have ideas? Or should I simply wing it?" He seemed surprisingly calm. A little hesitant but willing, unsure of the steps but ready to join the dance.

Confronted with the reality of Aziraphale's attentions, with nothing left to distract them and the future stretching terrifyingly forward, Crowley pulled back a little. "Are you sure?" he ventured. "You don't have to - to humour me, you know, we can go back to whatever it was we were doing before, I don't want this to…"

Crowley swallowed, and started again. "I want you," he insisted slowly, "but if this is going to fuck anything up, please… _please_ stop us both now."

Aziraphale forced himself to consider Crowley's point seriously. "I think..." He paused and shook his head. "I would like this to happen. You’ll just have to forgive me if I’m a little clumsy… Not much experience, you see." He gave an embarrassed little laugh. "I realized something about myself today and - It’s scary. If someone finds out, we’ll be in trouble both but - Sometimes you just have to face things that scare you, yes? To learn more about yourself. I want to try this, at least once. I hardly think it’d make me want to be your friend any less."

Hardly pausing for breath, Aziraphale frowned. "Did - that make any sense? Am I making any sense? I’m not entirely sure I understand myself entirely either, so if you need any clarification, I could - "

Crowley shut him up with a kiss, hands fisting in Aziraphale's toga to bring their lips together hard. He licked over the angel's lower lip, relishing the gentle moan, and pulled back just when Aziraphale was starting to press forward.

"Hurt me," Crowley breathed. Aziraphale's breath caught. "I liked the whip. I liked your nails. If you still want this without that bloody dagger affecting you, well…" Planting his arms behind him, Crowley leaned back onto the bed, and arched his neck in invitation. "Do your worst, angel."

Aziraphale’s throat bobbed as he followed the demon, straddling him, then leaning down to mouth along the proffered veins, along the pulse that was so unnecessary, but so convenient.

The angel bit down and Crowley moaned, adding fuel to the fire burning low in Aziraphale's gut. Rocking his hips down, Aziraphale gasped when he found the right position to feel the demon’s hardness against his thigh. The friction was lovely, but not quite enough, and Crowley was about to voice his impatience when the angel suddenly rose and climbed off him. 

Demeanour changing in an instant, Aziraphale raised his chin. "Enough of this," he said with a little smirk. "You caused quite a scene at the party, my dear, and I believe I haven’t punished you properly yet. Strip, kneel on the floor, facing away from me. Be a good boy."

The shift in tone caught Crowley off guard, and he could only gape at Aziraphale while his mind tried to process the change. If this was the angel coming into his own, he didn't want to miss a _second_ of it.

Aziraphale raised a pointed eyebrow, and Crowley hurried to scramble off the bed, yanking the broach out of his tunic so roughly the pin snapped and sent metal flinging into the corner of the room.

"Careful, dear boy. Those are technically mine. After all… I own everything you wear. And I also own you," Aziraphale said, arranging the folds of his toga, and Crowley bit his lip with a shiver at the tempting fantasy. With a flick of his wrist, a nine-tail whip appeared in the angel's hand, finely made with soft leather straps. He struck the air with it experimentally; the characteristic sound was loud, hard to miss, and Crowley's pulse jumped.

"I hope you’re ready, because I don’t feel like going easy on you." Eyeing the room, Aziraphale frowned and walked to the window, nudging the other pane half-closed to drop the room into pleasant shadow. He could still see well enough, and demons didn’t need light to see whatsoever.

Crowley bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees to display the broad, freckled planes of his back, and his breath grew heavier under Aziraphale's gaze. This was uncharted territory for them both, and he wasn't sure what to expect, even with the gentle nudge in Aziraphale's words that he was to continue playing the slave.

"Mercy, master," he said quietly, hoping Aziraphale would start slow, but at the same time transfixed with wonder at what might happen next. The whip marks had felt good after the initial shock had passed; would they feel good in the moment, or would it just be blazing pain? Crowley's hands clenched on his bare knees, uncertain, and _trusted_.

" _Mercy_ came a little too soon." Aziraphale swung the whip, connecting with Crowley’s back with a loud crack. The tool wasn’t designed to inflict serious pain, but the strike stung and left Crowley gasping.

"You will bear your punishment in silence," Aziraphale ordered, nostrils flaring as he began to settle into his role "And only beg for mercy when you can’t take it anymore. Then, depending on how long you lasted, I’ll decide whether you’ll be forgiven for your transgression."

The entire situation was affecting the angel in very un-angelic ways; his corporation responded, heart beating faster as pleasure pulsed in his belly. It would have been frightening if he weren't also so excited. There had been few occasions where Aziraphale had felt truly powerful and in control, and pacing behind a kneeling demon’s back was a heady rush. He wanted to act as Crowley's benevolent master, give Crowley what he needed - whether that need was punishment or ecstasy.

Meanwhile, Crowley felt he was drowning, shrinking into himself under Aziraphale's criticism, his distance, his impersonal stance. Harsh breath seared his lungs, sped until he was panting, and he hardly felt the impact of another lash from the cat-o-nine. Aziraphale's words twisted sharply in his gut, worse than any physical pain could be. Against the instruction to be silent, Crowley made a pitiful noise. "Angel, this isn't… please. Please."

Horror flooded Aziraphale's body, and the whip immediately clattered to the floor. Aziraphale knelt quickly in front of the demon's shaking form, smoothing the red tresses back with a gentle touch. His hands were reassuringly warm and his expression soft, concerned. 

"Talk to me. Does it hurt too much? Did I say something that I shouldn’t have? I don’t want to hurt you, you know that, right? I care." His voice dropped off, blinking at the epiphany. "I… do care about you, Crowley."

Crowley would never admit that the sound he made was a _sob_ as he folded forward to press his forehead into Aziraphale's shoulder. He huffed a tiny, hysterical laugh into the soft cloth. "You talk too much, angel. I just… oh." Suddenly realising how comforting Aziraphale's presence was, how warm, Crowley pressed in until he had nearly climbed into the angel's lap, sighing at the full-body contact. "Oh, that's nice."

A heartbeat later, Crowley fidgeted, trying to explain. An _end_ to this had never been his goal, just… an adjustment, and he prayed Aziraphale would understand. He prayed Aziraphale would stay. "Don't… don't keep so far away," he said slowly. "Not like I'm… just something to be lectured, not like I was…" Crowley swallowed convulsively, and finished in a whisper, "Not like I was bad."

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry. I understand, my poor boy." Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon and held him, nuzzling the hairs by his ear where the snake sigil was etched into the skin. "Oh deary me."

Shame curled hot in his stomach. This was surely a day of revelations; Aziraphale suddenly realised that in his attempt to seize power, he had unwittingly begun to act like his celestial brethren.

For some reason he didn’t dare to analyse just yet, that idea added disgust to the shame.

"I’m afraid more talking will be in order," Aziraphale sighed against Crowley’s cheek. "But if we want to do this right, we can’t avoid it. You’d still like me to hurt you, yes?"

Crowley groaned into Aziraphale's shoulder. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do. "Yes."

"But I shouldn’t… humiliate you, I take it? You are indeed a proud creature."

The cringe that provoked was unmistakable. Crowley shook his head mutely, and buried further into the angel's body in protest of this _talking_.

"There, there. We’re getting somewhere, dear. Just a little more. Would - praise be acceptable? Or should I just keep the talking to a minimum?"

Crowley hesitated, then raised his head to regard Aziraphale with one baleful golden eye. "Praise how?"

"Um - " Aziraphale racked his brain for something suitable. "Telling you how bravely you take the pain? That - you look good on your knees and that you’re obedient and - h-how much I like it…?" Despite the low light, the splotchy blush across his cheeks was obvious

Crowley sucked in a sharp breath as the words flooded him with more than just pleasure, complicated feelings and an eagerness to _earn_ those words that he very much didn't want to examine right then. "Yes," he whispered. "Please."

"It’ll be my pleasure." Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheekbone. "Now - would you prefer the whip, or just, um, how to phrase this... should we have rough sex? Though I’m not entirely sure how creative I could be in the latter case."

"No need to be creative." Calmer now, Crowley was able to pick up the threads of mischief, settling back into familiar temptation. He still wanted this - _they_ still wanted this - a little miscommunication wasn't going to break them apart. "Just use your nails…" He slid his own up the back of Aziraphale's arms, trailing slow lines until he could grip the angel's shoulders. "And your strength." He squeezed the solid muscle, leaning forward to finish in Aziraphale's ear, "And take what's yours, master."

Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide for a heartbeat, and then tugged on his toga with eager fingers. "Help me get rid of this thing," he breathed.

They worked together to wrestle the garment off and quickly cast it aside, revealing Aziraphale's smooth, flawless fair skin, and a rather interested, decently sized Effort. Busy staring at the angel's member and imagining the way it would feel pounding away inside him, Crowley missed the way Aziraphale's nails grew a little longer; far from claws, but enough to dig deliciously into freckled skin. 

"So, ahem." Aziraphale looked around, trying to get his thoughts in order. "How about we start with me having you from behind? You on all fours and I - you know."

Crowley was torn between laughing at Aziraphale's uncertainty and swearing at the heat of his bold words; he settled for lowering his lashes invitingly. "Whatever master likes," he purred, the coquettish tease.

Sliding forward onto hands and knees, Crowley raised his hand to snap, and the remaining fabric fell away, tunic and _subligar_ becoming rumpled piles between him and the rough rug. Red marks decorated his back, shoulders, and neck, vivid reminders of what Aziraphale had already done to him, but his bony arse was as yet unmarked, and his cock was quickly stirring with renewed interest between his legs.

Aziraphale stared at the beautiful vision unfolding in front of him, and then mumbled, "Oh, to Hell with it," and promptly wrenched the demon close, into a passionate kiss. He groaned into Crowley's mouth, then pulled sharply on his flame-red tresses until he could devour the demon's neck with sharp teeth and a clever tongue, leaving purposeful marks that he was sure would be felt for days. 

Growing impatient, Aziraphale manhandled Crowley back into position as if he weighed nothing, slipping two well-oiled fingers between the demon's cheeks to rub obscenely at his hole, mindful of his lengthened nails.

"Shit," Crowley gasped, dropping his head and spreading his legs. "You know what you're doing, angel." The thoughtless _power_ Aziraphale demonstrated, his eager demands as he explored this newfound interest, made Crowley want to submit utterly, let the angel do precisely what he wanted with him - but Crowley always had been a cheeky brat. Arching his back, he miraculously slicked his own entrance, and Aziraphale's fingers slid in easily to the hilt, leaving Crowley groaning at being suddenly, gloriously filled.

A hand slapped his backside sharply as a reply, and Aziraphale smirked above him. "Thank you dear, that was quite helpful. You’re so ready to please me, aren’t you? I’ll make sure to fill you nicely." He swatted Crowley’s rear again, fingers never stopping; they thrust deep and scissored sharply, loosening the tight muscle. "You look so good like this, dear. Absolutely ravishing. I can’t _wait_ to be inside you."

"Please," Crowley agreed breathlessly, rocking onto Aziraphale's thick fingers, grinding against his knuckles. "Aziraphale." He rolled the name on his lips, tasting it, testing how it felt to moan it aloud, and gasped at another quick strike to his cheeks. _"More."_

A third finger breached him immediately and Aziraphale planted a kiss on the base of the demon’s spine when he cried out, arms trembling with the strain. "I love how you say my name. Just a little more. I want to make sure that you’re ready for me." He pushed away his own greedy corporation's needs, focusing on Crowley, on readying his body so the only pain he felt was what Aziraphale _wanted_ him to feel.

"I'm fine, I'm - _shit._ " Crowley's voice broke when Aziraphale ground his knuckles into his rim again, and his arms gave way, sending him crashing into the rug with his arse presented, filthy and submissive and so, so good. The new angle had him keening. "Greedy, I'm greedy," Crowley gasped, hips moving to work himself mercilessly on Aziraphale's fingers. "Could take all of you and it wouldn't be enough."

"Well, dear, you _will_ be taking all of me," Aziraphale said. Crowley found it insanely arousing, his matter-of-fact tone combined with such filthy words. "I know you can. You’re all seven sins rolled into one, wearing a gorgeous corporation, and you make me weak."

Crowley whimpered when those fingers were pulled free, and Aziraphale ran a soothing hand over the rocky bumps of his spine. "Just a moment, dear. Just a moment." Aziraphale fisted his own erection, took a shuddering breath at how good it felt, then slowly but steadily pushed in.

"Oh, _Crowley!_ " Aziraphale moaned, and the cheap rug tore under Crowley's fingers. "You feel divine…!"

Crowley panted, clutching at the torn fabric, fractious, shattered noises filling the air as Aziraphale pressed in mercilessly. It was still a near-painful stretch, even after his thick fingers, and Crowley shuddered beneath the angel, bare shoulders heaving with the force of his unnecessary breath.

"A minute, just a minute," Crowley pleaded. Every movement sent little jittery shocks of sensation through his system, glorious bits of pain-pleasure that were rapidly turning to pure bliss.

“As long as you need,” came the reassurance and Aziraphale forced himself to hold still, trembling hands moving over Crowley’s side in a soothing caress. 

In the back of Aziraphale's mind, there was a quiet but alarmed voice insisting that what he was doing was wrong; he shouldn’t be here, not being friendly with a demon, much less having _sex_ with one, why, why had he even considered it? Aziraphale determined to ignore it. Sex was certainly not a sin, this was just a bit of… good-natured bonding between friends.

Yes, friends. 

_Funny_ , Aziraphale thought as he smoothed his hands over Crowley's spine, down his hips, fascinated by the way he could calm his partner's breathing with these simple motions, _how a demon treats me better than my co-workers_. Of course he knew the other angels weren’t there to coddle him; they were all cogs in the great celestial machine, designed to execute the divine plan, and it was _fine_ but… things got slow and bleak on Earth sometimes, and seeing Crowley never failed to brighten his mood.

“Tell me when you’re ready, dear," Aziraphale said softly, though the tightness around his cock was a blinding temptation just to thrust in, to take what his body needed. "I want to make you feel good.”

Slowly, the overwhelming stretch faded into feeling wondrously _full._ Crowley rocked his hips back gently, experimentally, and gasped at how good it was. "Yessss," he hissed, movements already taking on a tinge of impatience. Then Crowley remembered their _game_ , and he grinned into the fabric beneath him, letting his back bow and knees slip submissively further apart. " _Please_ , master."

Aziraphale huffed in exasperation. “You are so - _hellishly_ annoying at times…!” He made his displeasure known by swatting Crowley’s ass again. “But fine! Fine, I’ll be your master.” He grabbed the demon’s bony hips with both hands, the force of his grip bruising. “I shall claim you as mine, mark you as mine and you shall never be free.”

A few experimental thrusts made Aziraphale moan out loud - he didn’t indulge often, and it felt _so_ good - until he settled into a slow, firm rhythm. “How do you like that?”

Crowley could hardly manage words, wrapped up in the picture Aziraphale was painting, yanked about and - and _used_ like he really did belong to the angel, body and soul. Every thrust, not rough but _claiming,_ tore a loud whimper from his throat.

The angel was expecting an answer, though, and Crowley struggled for an adequate reply. "Good, so good. Yours, angel - master - please, more!"

“ _Yes_.” Aziraphale inhaled deeply, drinking down the undeniable pleasure of hearing those words, having the demon submit, and he didn’t slow. Watching Crowley writhe on the ground, hearing his noises, did things to the angel that he didn't want to analyse - he told himself he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Leaning forward, Aziraphale seized one of Crowley’s shoulders and let his free hand curl into the demon’s back, nails digging into the red marks. 

“You’re mine, every beautiful inch of you. Such a good boy. So good for me.”

 _Good boy_ echoed in Crowley's mind, spinning him lower, driving the rock of his hips, filling himself again and again, open and used and perfect. He hissed at the scrape of sharpened nails into already-sensitive flesh, spine arching in a way that dragged them further across his skin, adding a layer of pain that made everything better, sharper, _more_ , just like he'd asked - begged, even.

Pinned between hand and cock, Aziraphale's soft hips and belly smacking into his arse with every thrust, Crowley felt himself drowning again, but this time it was a slow, pleasant fall into overwhelming sensation. He wanted to be good, knew with every murmur from the angel's lips that he was _good_ for him, that he was bringing Aziraphale pleasure, and Crowley gave a lost, wordless cry, dropping further into himself.

Time ceased to exist, leaving only a warm ocean that washed over him with gentle pleasures, indistinct sweet words, and beautiful pain. On the other shore, Aziraphale knew little of his lover's blissful trance; Crowley responded with shaky gasps and shattered sounds, encouraging Aziraphale with his obvious enjoyment.

So the angel's hips and lips both moved, whispering sweet things into Crowley’s ears, ignoring the chase of his own pleasure. _“Such a good boy, so eager and ready. Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You’re mine. Do you want more, darling?”_

He raked his nails over the slender back, painting a beautiful picture of welts and near-broken skin, pleasure and pain, maddening, delicious pain.

The praise and the pain and the steady, unrelenting pace rolled through Crowley's body until he was gasping, moaning, _choking_ his pleasure out. Until one more slice of Aziraphale's nails into his skin made him sob into the rug and one more thrust of Aziraphale's cock, splitting him open, driving him into the ground, had ecstasy ripping through the soft haze he'd been floating in.

Crowley wailed, cock jerking untouched beneath him, and as his strength gave out Aziraphale grabbed for his hips to keep him in place. The blunt fingertips digging into his flesh had Crowley convulsing, his orgasm sudden and sharp; he'd had sex before but nothing like _this_ , the sweet submission and contrasting pain and Aziraphale, _Aziraphale_ -

_“Ah, there, that’s right, there’s a good boy… Easy now, darling. There you go. Oh how lovely you are.”_

Dazed, Crowley felt himself turned to lie on his side and pulled flush against a warm body, kisses raining over his shoulder, a hand sliding gently from neck to belly. 

_“Now just let me - Please let me… Oh! Crowley!”_

The angel nudged his legs apart, chasing his own fulfillment now, eager to mark him, _claim_ him. Aziraphale tried to gentle his touch but it was too much, too good, and the brush down Crowley's thigh became a tight grip, holding him in place.

_“Just - Just a little more, oh God, Crowley, I’m so close, you’re perfect, perfect...!”_

Though he still floated high, Crowley made what he thought was an encouraging noise. He brought a hand up behind his head, finding and sliding through soft curls, and turned just far enough to nuzzle into whatever part of Aziraphale he could reach. The haze over his thoughts didn't leave him, but it calmed until he could speak.

"Yessss, angel, take me, take it from me - sssso good, I'm good for you. Want you to feel good too, come on, ssssweet angel."

“Oh _Crowley_ , yes, ah, _yes…_!”

Aziraphale let out a broken moan, biting down on Crowley's neck as the orgasm crashed down on him, though he was careful even in the throes of passion; the mark would fade with time. He pulled Crowley close with trembling arms, fingers sinking into the demon’s shoulder to keep them pressed together as tightly as he could.

Panting and boneless, they lay on the shredded rug while Aziraphale kissed every inch of skin he could reach. “Thank you, my dear. Thank you so much.”

The scratches, bruises, welts, bites, all slowly made themselves known, aches painting themselves across Crowley's body, and he groaned. "Fuck," he muttered, trying to stretch sore muscles with a wince - but, _oh_ , Aziraphale was still inside him, and wasn't that a wonder?

With that realization came the cold wash of reality. He had tempted an angel, which would normally be a mark in his favour - but he had tempted _Aziraphale,_ and Crowley was suddenly afraid. Would he be the cause of the angel's downfall? He wouldn't ever forgive himself for such a crime. "Aziraphale," Crowley whispered, "are you… okay?" _Have you started to Fall yet?_

“Quite splendid, if a little sore here and there. The floor’s rather unforgiving. We should get up.” Despite his words, Aziraphale didn’t move a muscle, and he hummed happily against the back of Crowley's shoulder.

“That was… well, let’s say highly satisfactory. It’s been a while since I last had a tryst and - oh, you’re something _else_.” He laughed a little, then nuzzled behind Crowley's ear, words flowing freely as he luxuriated in bright, bubbly contentment. “Are _you_ all right? I gave you quite the treatment, your back must sting something awful. It’d be wise to treat it, oh, and we should clean up a bit, too… Would you like to go to the baths? The day is still far from over, we could have some wine… I have time to write my report later.”

"Report. Right," Crowley said weakly. He moved to sit up, but his arms trembled, and instead he pressed back into Aziraphale with a groan. "Baths are too public. Don't get rid of the marks, wanna keep 'em a while."

A shiver ran through Crowley's body. Now that he was coming down, he was _cold_. With a determined effort, he extricated himself, rolled over, and tucked back into Aziraphale's arms with a quiet huff. It wasn't as if he could corrupt the angel much more by simply cuddling him, and perhaps he was feeling a little selfish.

Aziraphale blinked but wrapped his arms readily around the demon. “I think this is the best part of the whole affair,” he said quietly. “I mean, the climax isn’t anything to sneeze at either, but… It’s nice, to hold a lover after it’s done.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb thoughtfully against the snake curled up by Crowley’s ear.

“You know… I think I owe you a bit of an apology. I’ve… had some misgivings about how much I can trust you, but now… they're all gone. You trusted me enough to let me see you like this and it’s - an honour.” When Crowley didn't respond, Aziraphale frowned a little, shifting back to try to see the demon's face. “Is something wrong? Don’t worry, I’m not going to brag to anyone about what happened - ”

Crowley's arms tightened around Aziraphale's waist. "I'd get a damn commendation if you bragged," he said roughly. "Tempting an angel… Hell would _love_ me. I'd ride on that for _centuries_. But you…" He cut off, worried he was revealing too much. Finally, in a tight whisper, right against Aziraphale's chest and easy to miss, Crowley hissed, " _Don't Fall for me._ "

Ethereal creatures were gifted with sharp senses. Aziraphale caught the whispered plea and he opened his mouth to say something to ease the apparent distress -

Then the words registered and his eyes went wide. Falling? He could - Fall, for getting cozy with a demon? Well, probably. Maybe. He didn’t know of any precedent for something like this - what angel would dare? - but the possibility was certainly there. While sex with humans apparently wasn’t considered a crime (Aziraphale would know, he had tried it and he was still there), a demon was a very different matter. Demons were enemies, and one did not fraternize with enemies.

That train of thought did nothing for Aziraphale's inner peace. Still, he tried to hide his distress; no need to make Crowley even more worried, not after the wonderful things they had just enjoyed together.

Or maybe… maybe Crowley had meant it as - ‘falling in love’? Oh dear. Well, they _were_ hereditary enemies after all, so it really wasn’t advisable anyway to develop deeper feelings than friendly affection. Which they shouldn’t have developed in the first place, but here they were...

It was too much. Aziraphale decided to pretend that he hadn't heard the whispered plea; he tucked Crowley’s head under his chin and held the demon close. 

And despite the summer heat, a foreboding shiver rippled through the angel's body.


End file.
